


things you said (it isn't poetry, but it moves me)

by echocreeks



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: F/M, Gen, Prompt Fill, and i'm kind of like.... yeah nah, and yet the universe is like Nah, because i love them and i just need them to be happy, knowing me half of this will end up being sad as balls, more of me moping because they're all so lovely and deserve the best, more of this agony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-03 17:47:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11537295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echocreeks/pseuds/echocreeks
Summary: words exchanged between two people who just needed to communicate a little better.





	1. things you said on the streetcar at 1am

"He's... he's a powerful businessman. The CEO of a huge corporation, even. He's spent years building his reputation, furthering his business... but his former best friend, who owns a rival business, pipped him at the post this quarter."

"What does  _that_ mean?"

"It's like... being beaten at a really crucial moment."

"That's so sad! What happens next?"

"Well... he was gonna get the bus home, but he's so overcome by shame that he can't face his family. So he got on the streetcar, and he's headed to reconcile with his old friend."

Star listens, wide-eyed and enraptured. She chews a piece of hair thoughtfully as she looks down the car at the man in the business suit, who's hunched over his briefcase with a narrow frown on his face. She understands it's a game, but she's still moved by this figure's hypothetical plight. "At one in the morning?"

"Yeah. why not?" Marco follows Star's gaze as the streetcar comes to a standstill. The man in the suit stands up, smooths his pants, and hops off. They shudder to a start again, leaning over the back of the seats to watch as the figure fades into the gloom behind them. "They were best friends for  _years_ , Star. When someone means that much to you, any time's a good time to make up with them."

A fitting resolution. Star brightens at the notion, aglow as she regards Marco. "And friends are more important than  _any_ kind of business! That stuff's for now ― people are  _forever_."

But on the streetcar, they come and go. The few that have shared the car with them on their way home from the beach have all been lost in themselves; Star and Marco had taken it upon themselves to find them. They've been people-watching to pass the time between stops: while Marco is indisputably creative, he finds more amusement in Star's total investment as opposed to the story-telling. Three stops back had seen her almost confront a woman whom Marco had described as desperately heartbroken. It had taken all of his strength to keep her in her seat.

"You wanna do another one?"

Star nods, her gaze traveling up and down the sparsely-populated aisle. She lands on a girl not much older than they are: she's bundled up in the corner, knees drawn under an over-sized sweatshirt. She's scribbling madly into a bound journal. "Her. She _eeeeeee_... is  _on the run_." Star's voice drops to a whisper as she leans in close at Marco's shoulder, her hand cupped around her lips. "She's fighting an underground war that  _nobody_ knows about ― except for the people who're fighting it,  _ob_ viously. But her identity's been compromised, and the enemy's been intercepting her letters to her boyfriend, so she's makin' up a secret code!"

Marco had to hand it to Star: her take on things was a lot more...  _far-fetched_ than his was. He expected nothing less; relished it, even, how Star's default angle was always the most awkward and intangible. He smiles, inclining towards Star. "So where does the streetcar factor into it?"

Star pauses for a moment, still watching the woman with rapt concentration. then she clicks her fingers. "She's gonna leave her little book-y thing on the seat when she gets off! Then another  _agent_ is gonna get on, take it, and pass it on!" She's gripping Marco's arm now, tempering an excitement that could emit charge. " _G_ _enius_!"

As if on queue, the streetcar stops. The girl glances outside the window and leaps to her feet, darting out the open doors. When they see that she has indeed left her book behind, Star practically squeals.

"W _hat_ did i tell you, Marco?! Super secret correspondence from behind enemy lines!"

The novelty of coincidence does conjure a smile to Marco's face. all the same, he can't help but feel sympathy for the girl and her abandoned journal. What if it's  _really_ important? He makes to stand up. "Hey, maybe we should get that back to her..."

"No!" With brute force, ( _a surprising amount, for such a slight girl_ ) Star tugs Marco firmly back down next to her. "It's  _providence_ , Marco! It's  _serendipity_. Some things aren't for our eyes. It'll find its way to whoever it's meant to go to. You just gotta learn to  _trust_ in the universe!"

I don't know about you, but I think Marco's seen enough of the universe these past few years to  _not_ have to blindly trust it. Earth especially lacks the inherent magic that Star seems to believe permeates the dimensions. Then again, while at first Marco might have thought it wrong to be so optimistic, he's grown to appreciate this unconditional positive regard Star has for the world around her. Maybe, _just maybe_ , it  _is_ because she  _believes_ it's so. 

Marco sighs, staring at the journal as streetlamp after streetlamp washes it in amber light. He'll tell the driver when they get off. "Alright, we'll leave it up to fate. Who's next?"

Good question. The two of them are now alone on the streetcar, save for the driver. They're within Echo Creek's city limits again. Another game, and another day, is coming to an end. Star notices this, too, and she deflates just a little.

But not for long. "We  _totally_ forgot!" Star's hand travels idly down Marco's arm to where his hand rests on the seat. She threads her fingers through his, and gives them a gentle nudge. "What about these two cuh- _razy_ kids? What're  _they_ doing here?"

He looks from Star's face to their hands, and understands. Marco grins as he leans back in his seat, peering at Star as though for the very first time. She laughs at him; squeezes his fingers again. "You mean those two cool-lookin' dudes with the sick sunburn? They just spent a day at the beach."

Star beams. She's red from the sun, and warm from the company. Her cheeks glow ever-so-faintly. "And what'd they do there?"

"Oh, you know... built a sandcastle...  _destroyed_ a sandcastle." This is punctuated with a pointed look from Marco as he continues. "Caught some waves, got dumped by said waves... drank sodas... watched the sunset. Just beach stuff."

"That sounds like a pretty great day. I wouldn't have wanted it to end."

Marco watches Star's head droop a little under the press of fatigue. He draws his free arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. There are a few precious moments in his recent memory where they'd stayed like this: her head over his heart as the sun plunged over the horizon. His sensory recollection responds with a few solid thumps of the heart. "It was an _awesome_ day... but it had to end."

Marco's lips to Star's hair, he watches out the window as their stop draws ever closer. "Because that way, there can be new days to do it all over."


	2. things you said when you were a million miles away

What even _are_ these Commission meetings? Moreover, what is _Star_ doing at them?

They’ve all been pulling double duty. _Triple_ duty, what with their one link to the ether of the universes severed. Hekapoo had at first been reluctant to involve the Princess with Bureaucracy business, but Moon had contested her at every instance. Star had _saved_ them countless times, after all! And Moon, some twenty Earth-years prior, had been deemed fit by the Commission for service.

Star has yet to master her magic. Or judiciary. Or governing. Or… well, _anything_ , really, but by my _stars_ if she isn’t the most powerful one at the table these days.

But _my corn_ , they’re _so_ boring.

Moon blathers on about _something_ or other towards the head of the table. Hekapoo, with her chin propped up on a fist, twirls her scissors around her finger with a vacant stare. Rhombulus’ hands talk amongst themselves as Star looks on from the other end of the table, tracing the embroidery on her skirt.

It’s all very royal these days. Very official. Her mother keeps her closer and closer each year, and for all the good Earth has done Star, Moon will not admit her further than the next few dimensions over without a permit. This is worse than St Olgas in some ways: perfect freedom, the license of a wand and a pair of dimensional scissors, but with her _mother_ breathing down her neck at every turn.

 _You’re older now, Star. There are things that are expected of you, and duties you must fulfil. I won’t be around forever, you know_ …

Like, _wow_ , Mom! She knows already. Barely tracing seventeen with the back of her palm and already you’re priming Star to take a seat at all the important tables.

But while her body stays, Star’s mind wanders. It takes her farther than her scissors ever could, and almost as vividly as the visceral sensation of being there. She almost always thinks of Earth; when the suns have set, or when she’s flopped over her modest-by-comparison throne. Even when Moon is arguing for tighter regulation on interdimensional travel and fair magical use, Star wanders.

Then a portal pops open right by her elbow. A piece of paper _flops_ out of it, and seals the space-time continuum as it passes.

Star’s eyes dart upward. Moon continues to talk; the Commission continues to be bored out of their collective minds. Star’s hand shoots up from under the table and envelopes the piece of paper, drawing it back under the table. She unfolds it, and _glows_. She’d recognize that shaky cursive anywhere.

‘ _Still alive, Yo Highness? x’_

He always signs with a little ‘x’. It’s Star’s favorite part of an otherwise innocuous slip of their ongoing correspondence. Wait; who is she kidding? _All_ of it is her favorite part. Over time and space, through the hardships of stepping into the role of a monarch, Marco has never once forgotten her. She lives for his little notes; for the brief hours that they can spend together unperturbed by life.

 Star smooths the piece of paper over her lap and touches her index finger to her tongue before committing it to paper; conjuring a magical spit-ink, she hastes a response:

‘ _Are you kidding? We’re hanging out later, I’m not gonna turn up dead. WYD?’_

Star rummages through her petticoats for her dimensional scissors. At last she snags the jeweled hilt, flips open the blades, and snips a little hole between here and Marco’s desk. She drops the piece of notepaper in and hastily folds her arms on top of the table, spectating its ongoing business with a look of utmost scrutiny.

Not a minute passes before Star feels something feather-light land in her lap.

‘ _Stats. Boring stuff. How about you, think it’s going to be much longer?_ ’

‘ _Mom stuff. So yeah, boring stuff. Lookin’ at another hour?_ ’ She sketches out a little hamster chewing on a watch hand. _‘Trade you_.’

What follows isn’t a response, as such: it’s a crude drawing of what appears to be Moon in a business suit, along with Marco himself falling into a deep, dark void. Star can’t control the ungraceful snort that punctuates the drawn monotone in the room.

“ _Yes_ , Star? Is something wrong?” Moon is staring down the table at Star, one tired eyebrow raised. “Something you’d like to share?”

 _How does she **know** this stuff? _ “Oh ― nothing, mom! It’s fine, it’s nothing. Hayfever.” Star enunciates with a series of labored and dramatic sniffs, which elicit mild disgust from Moon in response.

“ _Hay_ fever? Oh, Star, have you been rolling around in the stables _again_?”

Star handwaves the notion and covers her nose. “It’s an Earth thing. You guys keep on keepin’ on, I’m good.” She clears her throat, and nods to her mother encouragingly.

Moon narrows her eyes; it’s the kind of luck that cuts right through Star’s warnicorn-crap. “Alright. Where was I..?”

When she’s sure no one is watching her, Star unfolds the notepaper again; flips it over. ‘ _You almost got me in trouble, Diaz. When I see you, you’re gonna pay_.’

It takes Marco a few minutes to issue a response. A few minutes more of Star dodging Commission Suspicion before she can read it.

‘ _IF I see you. It’s been forever. I just miss ya. xx_ ’

 _Double x’s_ , Marco! You baller! They still make Star smile; her face betrays her, however. Her heart is doing that _thing_ it does, where it both swells beyond her chest’s capacity, and plummets downward. While it’s love… it’s that long, tiresome, imminent, pounding, pulling, pushing, million-miles-away kind of love that warms her and wrecks her all at once.

Star knows that the distance has been hard on both of them. Summers are longer when their time together is shortened. Brief glimpses into each other’s lives: Marco ploughing through high school. ( _He’s almost ready to graduate, and Star couldn’t be prouder._ ) Applying for colleges, going to sports games. He always saves a seat for Star, though the frequency with which she occupies it has been dwindling slowly.

It makes her question whether being in the “important” seats is worth it. What’s _really_ important to her… is her people, yes, and her home, and magic. Star feels the drive to protect, to lead, and to be a part of things… but _Marco’s_ important. _Earth_ is important. Some _stupid_ football game where she can eat junk with all her friends and cheer until her throat is hoarse is important. Star knows he will _always_ leave space beside him for her, and that one day, there will be a vacant throne beside hers.

But right now, it still hurts.

Star opens a small portal comfortably near her, but still below table-height. She discards her scissors, removes her glove, and reaches through it. There’s the feeling of wood grain below her fingers; she knocks over something as her hand crawls across it. Star huffs as she lets her hand drop limply down on Marco’s desk, palm facing up, fingers grabbing for purchase.

And then his hand slides into hers. Marco guides her to rest comfortably on the desk, no doubt so he can continue his stats homework. But Marco’s hand is warm, his thumb constantly smoothing over the back of Star’s hand, and the stress of the last few days drops away.

Moon Butterfly meets her daughter’s eyes some time later. They’re hazy, and Star’s expression is soft and complacent. She offers a dizzy smile, which Moon returns. If she knows, ( _which she does,_ ) she has the grace not to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're still in warm fuzzy territory. Be afraid. Be _very_ afraid.


	3. things you said that i wouldn't understand

Moon slips away so easily and with very little fanfare. ( _In hindsight, it makes sense. Moon wasn't the warrior queen Star thought she was, but her bravery demanded a fluid passage through time._ ) Women of the Butterfly family can typically live for a hundred years, if they try; it's just that Moon wasn't  _trying_. She was  _ready_ , and on this day, her wings enveloped her and carried her on to higher pursuits.

Star stands beside her father by the observatory's tall arch window. She's always towered over him; now she's a good head, shoulders and torso above River, who leans into the steadiness of his daughter's embrace. They've both done their crying: they'd done it in the royal chambers, when the color had drained from Moon's cheeks, and a wisp of magic had emerged on her final breath.  Strangely, not a word has passed between them for hours. It's River who finally breaks the silence.

"She'd been ailing for some time, dear." Neither a warranted explanation nor a mark of remorse, River continues as he strokes his daughter's hair. "Your mother knew what was coming... she knew what becomes of those who ― what do you call it?"

"Dip down." Star's fingers absently flex against her wrist. "When you dip down, using the darker stuff."

"That's right." River takes Star's hand. They're warm; unmarred by the affliction sported by his wife and some queens before her. Star's hands remind him of Moon's when he'd first held them all those years ago: covered in calluses. Stained with struggle. But while Moon's skin had been fresh and angry as it grasped the sudden shift from docile daughter to ruthless queen, Star's are somewhat smoother, like his. She's been fighting for far longer; she wears it well. "What was it she told you? Before..."

Star's breath catches in her throat. She fumbles around her own words; her heart is a stopper in her throat. She's worn and weak from crying, and the natural lilt in her voice has been sanded clean away. She looks down at her father: his blotchy face, his tear-laced beard. Star catches her own reflection in his crown and swallows thickly. Her mother's final words sit too close between her ribs to bear voicing, and if Star opens her mouth, she'll never close it for the screaming.

"Your Highnesses?" Both Star and River turn to the observatory doorway, where a squire stands awkwardly waiting. He peers around the orrery. ( _two suns, two moons, and a belt of neighboring lands._ ) "Your presence is requested in the Situation Room. Urgent business, if you'll pardon."

River massages the bridge of his nose. "Quite." He waves the squire away, and takes Star by the elbow. "We'd best get this over with, darling. Quick, like a stampede."

"Wait just a _hot second_." Star looks from her father to the doorway, then back down to her hands. She's not ready.  _Not now._  "Me? Why do I have to go? I've been on Earth for, like, six months, I dunno what's going on! Dad, you're the king.  _You_ go."

"Not for much longer, my sweet. Mewni's yours now."

Star withdraws. Her arms constrict her, and the sensation of shrinking is such that she fears she might be lost in a sea of her own petticoats. Everything's cold; she's sweating. Wait, is it hot in here? Is someone fiddling with the thermostat? "Mom  _just_ died! Don't we get some  _time_ _?_ A gift basket?  _Anything_ _?_ "

"Oh, Star..." River reaches for her daughter; squeezes her arms, bundles her up in his own. "I'm afraid not. You see... the kingdom goes on outside the castle. There are still things to be done. We'll have our time..." Harking back to the death of Moon's own mother, in the midst of the war, River cannot recall having properly grieved. Things are different now, however...  _Star_ is different. Things will be better, you'll see. "... We'll have our time once we've taken care of everyone else."

Star's sob is lost in the crook of her father's neck. She breathes him in. It reminds her of being very small: just small enough so as to rest her head on his shoulder, when she still had to look up to meet his eyes. Star feels like that girl again, but with all of the vim and vigor knocked out of her. "Please don't make me go."

"I'm sorry, Star." 

For such a stout guy, River possesses indomitable strength. He hoists his daughter up over his shoulder like her sadness doesn't even weigh her down, and makes for the Situation Room. Star, while getting a few good kicks in there, is too tired to even cast against her father. In mere moments, she relents.

As it turns out, Moon was adept at ordering her day-to-day diplomacy. She has left them extensive records of edicts and treaties and legislation; with the conglomerate aid of River and the High Commission, everyone is able to get on top of governing in the late queen's absence. Even Star contributes, although she hasn't much of a choice. So many captains at the helm leaves her with a bit of whiplash: their government is directionless without a sole authority, and Star feels her mother's good work as it is stretched and distorted by the constant arguments.

( _She's the only one with the magic. She's the only one pulling it back together_.)

After three days of being locked in the Situation Room with the would-be lawmakers of Mewni, Star emerges as a disheveled woman. She's barely thought about mourning; her grief has yet to catch up with her. She's far too tired to hurt.  

Star staggers past iconography of the Butterfly family on her way to her childhood bedroom. Busts of her parents, gaudy tapestries, and those corn-awful portraits that it had been murder to get Star to sit for. Further into the private wings are the family pictures: speedily painted pieces on 10x10s that feel more close and organic than Star herself. Birthdays. Stump Days. Mewnipendence Days. A four-year-old Star in her mother's arms on the back of a warnicorn. Moon teaching Star the harp at Aunt Felicity's third daughter's sixth sweet sixteen. Star, mere hours after she was born, asleep on her mother's shoulder. 

It would be easier if she could cry more. If Star could  _scream_ for her mother and not have her come running, it would be so much  _easier_ to accept that life goes on. Star's only twenty, for crying out loud! This day was meant to come  _years_ from now, when she'd seen everything there was to see of the universe and she was _ready_ to take the throne. But Star... she's not a queen. In no sense of the word is she fit to rule. 

Something akin to a feeling gnaws at her insides. Star's hand pauses on the doorknob as she waits for it to overcome her. When it never does, she lets herself into her room. 

"Star?"

Her wand's out and in front of her before she has time to think about it. Star's tired, sunken eyes widen and roam about the room, searching every beam of moonlight and pocket of shadow. There's a rustling on the bed; Marco Diaz unfolds himself and edges towards her, palms splayed and yielding. 

"Wanna point that thing somewhere else? Easy, it's just me."

" _Marco_." Something in Star finally  _breaks_. She dismisses the wand and bounds straight for Marco, whose arms are open and ready. He waits for her to cry: those loud, watery wails she usually has when she's distraught. But all is quiet; Marco feels her shoulders quake with silent sobs, and he draws her closer. "I'm so sorry."

She mumbles something into his chest that he doesn't quite catch. 

"Wanna repeat that?"

Star just nods as she continues to cry, chasing the breath that evades her. Once she levels out, she pulls back so as to look at Marco. "I  _hate_ this." There's barely any strength in her tone; there's nothing lifting her from within. "I haven't even  _seen_ her since... I haven't gotten any time with her, or with dad! It's just ― taxes  _this_ , infrastructure  _that_ ,  _look after your people, Queen Butterfly_ _!_ " Star shakes her head as she exhales, pushing her tears away. "I can't take her place, Marco. I can't do this... not right now."

"... When's the coronation?"

"Three days. And there's no way out of it. I checked." Of course she has. Star's been through every scroll and rule book in their extensive library. She appealed to the Commission, she  _begged_ her father. "I can't just palm the crown off to one of Etheria's kids unless I desert, which I just..."

Marco nods, understanding. He'd be worried if Star really  _did_ want to abdicate the throne: he knows how much Mewni means to her, how she would die protecting it. Moreover, this is the kingdom that Moon built. It was always made for Star to take, right from the beginning. 

"Look, Star... no one's saying you have to  _replace_ your mom."

"That's kind of what being the new queen of Mewni  _means_ , Marco..."

"No, just... listen? Please?" Marco draws his arm around Star's shoulder and guides her to the window. It's a cloudless night, save for the Cloud Kingdom overhead. Black standards wave in the stead of Mewni's emblem. Shrouds can be seen in every doorway in the streets below. Flowers line the mud-soaked cobblestones leading up to the castle. 

They stare out over the kingdom for several moments, before Marco turns to Star. "You're not her, Star. But you  _are_ the best of her. You're crazy-brave... actually, you're just pretty crazy."

She laughs. It's damp and heavy, but her smile pervades.

"You might not know exactly how to do all this...  _queen_ stuff just yet, but... you know how to  _lead_. You can protect the people here, and they love you. No one's asking you to be the perfect queen right away, Star. It'll take time, and practice, and lots of screwing up."

"Sounds like something I could manage."

Marco, with his arm still around Star, gently pushes her hair from her temple and stoops to kiss her there. "You're ready, Star. If you ever think you don't know, you do."

Her brows knit together as she looks up at Marco. "Mom... she said the same thing. Before she died. I just have no idea what it even  _means_."

"Trust me. You'll know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moon, last chapter: "I'm not going to be around forever."  
> Me, now: lmao
> 
> Star and Moon's relationship is really, really special. From Star's mother issues to what we see of them in Battle for Mewni, there is so much potential for growth and reconciliation. I feel pretty strongly about giving them some peace, because it's clear they love each other more than they can even really convey. Although Marco appears in this chapter, it's really about Moon. 
> 
> She isn't killed off for real, btw. I love her too much to not write about her hereafter.
> 
> As you can probably tell, these aren't sequential, as such. As I work my way through prompts, I just go with the themes and settings that appeal to me the most. If you're interested in reading these chronologically, I may reorder the chapters as such when I've finished with them. I've got it marked out on my notes so far where they fit into the hypothetical timeline, so it doesn't bother me.


	4. things you said that made me feel real

"Come, now, Your Majesty. Do give us another push."

"I'll give  _you_ a  _push_ , alright!" At least, that's what we think she said. The latter half of the sentence was lost in a bone-shaking scream that could be felt throughout the kingdom. 

The small collection of clerics exchange a nervous glance and take a pointed step back. Their queen, in her unbridled agony unfurls her wings for perhaps the fourth time this minute. (  _It's terrifying, but it makes timing contractions that much easier._ )

"Y'know, Star..." The king of Mewni, though immovable from his wife's side, looks a touch uneasy. There's very little color to him; he can't feel his fingers. "Maybe we should all just give you a min _—"_

" _Don't you dare, Marco Diaz!"_ Star's vice-grip tightens a notch as she seethes with pain once more. She casts a warning glance at the clerics, who are warning her to  _just breathe_. " _They_ can go. Marco stays."

Marco exchanges a short, silent moment with Star before he turns to the medical entourage. "You heard the queen. If we need you, we'll call."

Much of the apprehension is drained from the room as they bow themselves out. It's not until the chamber doors thunder closed that Star lets out a pathetic whimper, and she collapses into Marco's arms. "This is the  _worst_ _!_ Isn't there a way to speed this up?!"

I mean...  _yeah_ , there  _are_ , but Marco doesn't care to bring it up. He just holds Star for a moment; smooths her sweat-laced hair back off her forehead, and braces himself as another contraction causes Star to cripple his hand once again. "You're doing fine, Star. It's been hours... no giving up now."

In all the years he's known her, Marco has never seen Star quite like this. He's well acquainted with her desperation, her determination... he's seen her crumble under the weight of the world. When the chains of commanding had restricted the normal span of her lifetime, Star somehow pushed through. Not without scrapes and scars, mind you. But she made it.  _Somehow_. Marco has  _never_ seen Star on the brink of giving up entirely. He understands what's in her eyes: he understands she's tired, and sore, and about ready to pass out. ( _Though the strength of her grip betrays this._ ) It's been months of excitement and anticipation, tempered with the fear of this moment. They knew it would be hard  _—_ Star especially. And Marco had done his best to quell her, to prime her for it, as he had always aspired to do as she ascended to claim her birthright. 

The way she trembles is reminiscent of a Star he'd known once; a Star he'd always stood by, in all her idiosyncrasies.

"I just need a _break_ , Marco! I just need a second..."

"We'll have plenty of seconds after we're done. We'll have a whole bunch of 'em when we're parents."

She looks up at him. Her eyes, though watery, are wide and waiting. "It's gonna be so awesome."

"It's gonna be _amazing_." Marco stoops to kiss her, rub her back; he feels her heart pounding mercilessly against her chest. "Stay strong. That kid's gonna know from the second he's born what a hardcore mom he has." 

"Hey, Marco..?"

"Yeah?"

"Contraction."

Marco immediately reaches for Star's other hand. He finds her just in time; unprepared to have his fingers nearly broken, he grimaces as Star grits her teeth through a contraction that goes on, and on, and on. 

"Star? Are you okay?"

She nods.  _Grins_ , though her cheeks are stained with tears, and her muscles are too weak to hold it for long. "Just a bunch of really little ones..." She winces again; her grip on Marco tightens, and she's chewing her lip so hard that the skin breaks. Marco lets her have these moments: he loves Star all the more for them. She wouldn't be half the queen she is if it weren't for these tiny, almost imperceptible beats in her ballad. She's always strong, he knows; but it's easier to be strong when she lets herself be  _weak_ , and  _real_. 

Marco presses his forehead to Star's; he lets the volume of his voice drop low enough so as to let this moment end with them, and only them, as it had begun. "Queen-face."  _Show them how strong you are._ "Let's get this over and done with, huh?"

Star draws in a long, trembling breath. Though she's disheveled and pale, she draws in enough composure to even her features, and reign herself in. She turns towards the door; with an erratic  _boom_ of magic that even Marco feels, it swings open to reveal her clerics in the hall. "Come on! It's  _go-time_."

They  _go_ for almost another hour. It's well into the night, and everyone is exhausted. The clerics give up on their motivational bedside manner in the steadily-building onslaught of Star's petulant Mewnian profanity. ( _She's pretty fond of Earth swears, but points to Mewnian for creativity and sheer novelty of utterance._ ) Marco chides her from time to time for the two or three words he catches; Star merely tells him to  _shove it_ , or does it for him with a hand over his mouth. 

The second moon has almost fallen when, in a thunderstorm of screams and doubt, a shrill cry cuts through all others. Star collapses back into her pillow, her eyes tracing the filigree stars above the bed's canopy. Marco misses nothing: not the clerics' sighing in relief as this horror-show comes to an end, or their immediate dampening as they acquaint themselves with the first child born into the era of Star Butterfly. 

"It's... a boy, Your Majesties."

Star comes down from the heavens, and cranes her neck to see. "We're done? That's it? We've got a boy?!"

Their screaming child is being cleaned and wrapped. He's giving the staff considerable trouble; he couldn't be any more like his mother already if he tried. Marco squeezes Star's hand, and leaves her side for the first time in eight hours. He excuses his way through the rabble, and reaches for his son. "Here, I got him."

Almost instantaneously, the child begins to simmer down. Marco dismisses the clerics with his heartfelt thanks; though they protest, he is  _very_ insistent that they leave. Because...  _this is it_. This is the moment he meets his son. This is the moment his life changes forever. This is the moment where everything, past, present, and future, matters. 

By his stars, he looks  _just_ like her. He's expressive and emotive and so  _aware_. Marco feels awkward, balancing a living being in his arms; he trusts himself with puppies, and he helped Star deliver a warnicorn once... but this is so  _new_. 

"Marco?"

He looks up. Star has managed to sit upright, though not without a considerable amount of pain evident on her face. She smiles weakly; he returns the gesture with interest, and takes his son to meet his mother.

"Would you look at that, Star. You did it."

She's peering at their child like it's the single most perplexing problem she's ever been asked to solve. Star is understandably dazed and depleted, but holds such focus in her eyes that it's no wonder she's a powerhouse on the battlefield. Star reaches toward her son; she brushes the corner of the blanket from his face, and Marco tilts the baby toward her. "Oh my gosh."

"I know."

"Oh my  _gosh_." Star's done her crying today, but it seems she's not done. She's at it again all at once, her eyes welling and spilling over before she can help herself. Star reaches for her child, and Marco eases him into her arms. "Marco, we have a  _son_."

He knows what this means, of course. Marco hadn't stopped to think about it, and hadn't given it a world of consideration before this moment. He is perfectly aware of how Mewni's autocratic inheritance functions. He knows that his son will never take the crown. As Marco watches Star cradle their child to her chest, this all comes down on him like a tonne of bricks. 

"... Are you... like, are you _okay_ with this?"

Star looks to Marco as if he'd just read her back their wedding vows in Spanish. She looks to him, then to their son, and it's like every cloud behind her eyes has parted when she  _smiles_. "Of  _course_ I'm okay. Just... have you  _seen_ him? Look at him, Marco. He's.... he's  _ours_." Star shifts a little, making space for Marco on the bed. He clambers in beside her so as to see what she sees. "He's  _ours_." Again. With more force. "He doesn't ever have to worry about...  _queen_ lessons, or magic stuff, or St O's. He can go to school on Earth, and raise warnicorns, and ride them into the sunset, and  _—"_

"Sounds like he's gonna cause all sorts of trouble."

Star laughs as she smooths back the tiny wisp of hair on her son's head. "Well, what did you expect, Marco? Like... he gets to do normal stuff... have a normal life."

"He's not an heir."

"Nope... just our kid."

Marco rests his head on top of Star's. He's mesmerized by this, by her  _— by him_. It strikes him that they're  _parents_ now. That he'll have to up his safety game, and maybe convince Star to conjure a few new wards around the castle, until their son is ready to brave the world with a lance and an algebra textbook. Marco finds it profound, as he reflects on moments yet to come, how a child born under two moons will grow up knowing what it means to have a real childhood. And he's a real, honest-to-corn parent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Starco is showing.
> 
> I had a few of these drafted, but I really needed something a little lighter, and a little more Marco-centric. He's kind of the side-player in everything I write because I just enjoy Star so much, but I really do love flexing my monster arm from time to time.


	5. things you said, but not out loud

There's a split-second where she thinks she can turn back.

Star's moving so fast that her tears cannot find purchase on her cheeks; they drench her hair, kiss her neck, and leave a trail up the stairs for Marco to follow.  _Follow me_ , she thinks.  _Give enough of a cob to trip over yourself into the portal, don't think just fall just come with me —_

He's fast. But she's faster. And Star's brain works quickly enough to catch up with her heart  _just this once_ as she slams her bedroom door behind her, and presses her back flush against it.

Star looks in and around the tall, sweeping shadows in the room. Everything is steeped in the cool blue of her mother's portal, which, while still ebbing with power, has been open so long that it is beginning to flicker and wane. She tries to imagine how this room will be when she leaves it; Star can barely remember what it was like before she moved in, and now she's staring at her bed, her cushions, her vanity adorned with pictures, and wondering what will become of a space she's fallen head over home into. 

Moon is pacing by the mirror — well. Limping, more like. Star looks at her mother and feels her own heart fall with every labored step. Moon is unrelenting, unwavering —  _undaunted_  — and today she can barely stand for the misfortune that has fallen upon them. Her tired eyes fall on her daughter, and at once the hard lines of her face melt with their shared sadness.

"Mom..."

"Star, sweetie..." Moon advances quickly to envelope her daughter in her arms. They can both hear Marco beyond the door, thundering up the stairs like his life depends on it. He calls for Star, who withers.

"I need more time, I need to — "

Moon hushes her daughter, and draws Star's head against her chest. ( Have you ever cried on armor? It's a bit peculiar. It's feeling the painful swell behind your eyes to the power of ten, and the warmth of your face as it crumbles and sears with unbridled agony. Star hears her mother whisper something into her hair; feels the irregular beat of her heart behind the chest plate. Something intangible folds over them like a blanket and enfolds them, and if Star's eyes weren't welded shut, she might have noticed the pulse of the portal begin to slow, or the passage of the clouds in the sky begin to drag.

Everything grows quiet. All that's left is Moon's soft breathing, and Star's haggard sobs. It's only when she loses the sound of Marco's footfalls that Star pulls away to quizzically study her mother.

" _Wwwwhat_ did you do..?" It's... so  _still_. "Mom? Did you just..?"

"No. Not completely. Just a mild temporal upset to make things move very,  _very_ slowly." Moon raises a hand to cup her daughter's cheek. Her gauntlet feels very warm. "I can't hold it for long. And we can't really  _interfere_ with things, but... this is your moment to do with as you wish, Star."

Star looks at her mother with wonder and disbelief. Hadn't she warned Star once about messing with time? Granted, it isn't  _completely_ stagnant — they won't have to push the wheel to get it going again — but Moon is  _broken_. Star has never seen her like this: so lost, so fearful of anything. Her hands are shaking, and Star can't tell if it's out of terror, or the immense pressure of time as it threatens to collapse in on them. 

Of all things, Star doesn't want to see Marco again. She doesn't want to read the hurt on his face after she'd turned her back on him. She wants to remember him as he feels in her heart: warm and bright, like her own personal jar of sunshine. She doesn't want to know what it looks like when the sun never comes out... she doesn't want to see a dying star. 

He's safer here on Earth, she knows. These walls have been her sanctuary for almost a year, and they will persist to be his. She wants them to tower like her castle; to never bow to any cosmic force short of her turret cleaving the roof in two. Star briefly considers running for his scissors and bringing them with her back to Mewni... but she knows Marco, and she has seen who he has become for being around her. She doesn't want Earth to be a prison, like Mewni is about to become hers.

"I just... I want him to be safe."

Moon simply nods. Watching her daughter age years in the span of a few minutes has truly done a number on her. Though she never doubted her daughter's intuition and intelligence, she never thought it would prevail above her reckless penchant for danger. The Star she sees now is the protector that she needed to become. She's ready. 

"Star... the noblest and bravest thing you can do is to put the safety of others before your own. In time you will learn what it means to keep others safe... the things you must do... and how awful it can feel, sometimes." Moon unstraps a gauntlet; pushes a lock of her daughter's hair behind her ear with a gloved hand, and embraces her once more. In a faint whisper that Star must strain to catch, Moon whispers something in Mewnian: something Star remembers as a feeling rather than the tumble of one syllable over another. It makes her feel warm, and calm; it evokes long-lost memories of Moon braiding her hair before bed, and speaking those exact same words as she stooped to tuck her daughter in at night.

Moon steps away, and replaces her gauntlet. "Marco will know, just as you will, what you did was the right thing. You need only think of him, and he will know."

It's a kind of magic that predates Star's recollection of the Whispering Spell, or her mother's deepest, darkest secrets Star has yet to unfold. It's the kind of magic that is in her blood; it pools in her heart, and surges through her, and as long as it does, Star feels her mother and knows she is safe. Time is falling back into step, now; the portal begins to fluctuate under the strain of pressing space. The doorknob to Star's room begins to turn; she pivots toward the door, and grasps the handle tightly. 

Star closes her eyes, and her lips begin to move. No sound leaves them, but her voice is deafening as it echoes the words around her mind. They're old, and slow, and she doesn't quite understand them; but she feels them as they stir inside her heart like electricity, and trickle down through her fingers to where she grasps the last piece of home she'll ever feel. Something of a light leaves Star, but she knows where it's going. She knows it's not lost. 

As the last word leaves her, she steps back; towards her mother. Towards the portal. Time is catching up. "Let's go, mom."

The last of Moon's magic fades as they cross over, and Star's follows her into the portal. The moment before she goes, she turns; catches sight of her magic beginning to collapse in on itself as her possessions dissipate into Moon's waiting carriage. Her heart falls as the her walls do the same, her tiles shrivel away, and this part of her leaves Earth. 

But it's okay, really. She left a piece of herself here. She left a piece of herself with Marco.  _Be safe, Safe kid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewatched _Starcrushed_  the other day. I started at my desk, and ended up on the floor in a little ball of sadness. Anyway, Happy Tuesday!
> 
> I’ve been doing a lot more requests and prompt fills lately, which you can sell me on _[here](http://echocreeks.tumblr.com/ask)_. Otherwise, keep watching the _skees_  for this madness. These are getting steadily more vague as I do them (at least, some of them. Some of them are pretty literal, but it's all about that feeling, yo.) but I think, when I write for Star, everything comes more easily when it's abstract and based in feeling. It works for her. Bless her big heart.


	6. things you said at the back of the theater

It's all about the timing. (  _About landing your hand in the bucket_ just so _, and making that fleeting moment of salt-on-slime contact._ ) Dress rehearsals on the couch are over; clocking scores of tech runs under the Friendship Snugglie with a bowl of popcorn balanced between them, with Mackie Hand's fists of fury as the backdrop to an elaborate multi-step plan for capturing the princess's hand.

(  _How many times have they knocked fingers, transferred warmth, and felt that delightful prickle of static that Marco could blame either on the friction of her knee against his, or a blip of magic transference?_ ) 

It all leads up to this: a dark room, full of couples, and a sea of snacks in between them. Two hands, one shot. Two kids, one window of opportunity. He'll only take it when he sees, and knows, and feels that it's time. 

Marco's taken Star to plenty of movies before. Call him old-fashioned, and call her new to this world of limitless entertainment, but there's something about the cool, shady theater that just lends itself more to privacy than his own living room. With no curtains to draw and no parents to worry about, it can be just them, alone in the dark, even in a room full of people. He's never really into the movies she chooses, because Star chooses  _everything_. He never gets old with watching the film through her eyes as they grow wide, and focused, and contemplative. Her face shuffles through emotions like a gatling gun, like she wants to feel each separate lifespan of the characters at once as she watches them. If Star isn't as thrilling and timeless as an old black-and-white noir romance, Marco doesn't know what is. 

He hears Star sniffle; chances a glance. Sees her with her knees up to her chest, the hem of her dress in her mouth, and the emblems on her cheeks turning into little teardrops. It's just too cute, and he's  _way_ too sweaty. " _Star_." Movie theater-politeness doesn't pit his voice above the swelling of strings, so he leans in a little closer to her. " _Star_  —  _are you okay? It's just a movie._ "

Oh, she knows. But she's in too deep with her feelings that he probably can't keep her head above them now. Star turns, watery-eyed and squiggly-smiled, and smooshes her cheeks back to normal. " _I know._ " Her stage whisper isn't lacking in enunciation; it dips and weaves through every high and low Star must be feeling. " _It's just... it's_ so sad _! I love it._ " Star reaches for a gummy ring and pokes her tongue through it; her lips pucker and her jaw sets, and if it isn't the  _cutest darn thing_.

Marco is digging is nails into his sweaty palms, because he knows he needs to  _grow the heck up_.

 _Au contraire_ , this is only step one! Sitting in the dark, staring at a girl who could light the whole theater with a look. Marco's a solid...  _point-five_ of a step towards item two, which is getting his gross, greasy hands close enough to hers to collude a perfectly-timed touch. (  _He could step right over to step seven — putting a comforting arm around her seat, and inching his fingers under her hair — but this is a theater, not a drive-in, and there'll be_ none _of that tomfoolery for Marco Diaz, thank_ you. )

Look, though! Look at that! She's going for the popcorn! Now's your chance. Marco's eyes snap back to the screen, just in time for the passionate kiss that makes his cheeks boil and his nerves bubble over. It's the momentum he needs to  _lunge_  for the popcorn —

... and send it scattering all over the cinema floor. 

Marco utters a strangled cry that causes patrons to turn around and  _shush_ him angrily. It was enough to almost completely remove Star from the action on-screen; she casts Marco a sidelong glance, before glancing pointedly at the popcorn debris between their feet. "You okay there, Marco?"

"Yeah! All good, super good, completely...  _awesome_." He sighs — the couple seated two seats ahead break apart for air, and to glower at Marco imperiously. 

Star... doesn't look convinced, to say the least. She whips out her wand and, in a flurry of little scrubbing woodland creatures, dissipates the mess. Marco watches as the assorted bluebirds and mice take the seats on either side of them to watch the movie, before he glances at Star. "Sorry."

She waves him off with a shrug and a flick of her wand. There's a bird by her shoulder, pecking at a stray piece of popcorn. Stupid bird: that blue jerk is closer to Star than he's ever going to get. Marco sinks down in his seat and his attention swivels back to the tail end of the movie.  _Great! Just fantastic!_ His only inlet to the Realm of Star is being eaten by her squirrel entourage. Marco had come with no contingencies, and he's feeling the sting of this oversight in preparedness now. 

I mean...  _it's Star_. It should be so  _easy_ to just reach across and take her hand, knowing her, and knowing how she feels. (  _Oh, Marco knows. He's never forgotten. He's never pushed or prodded her, and she's never relented in being a supportive and comforting best friend. It's... hard to move from her periphery. You get it._ ) It shouldn't be beyond Marco to just...  _ask_ her, instead of being continually beaten into insecurity by his zig-zagging mind. 

Wait.  _Ask her_. There's an idea.

Marco clears his throat; does his best to swallow every heartbeat that reverberates up his esophagus. " _Sta—_ " And, he chokes.  _Literally_. Marco's tongue catches under his words, and suddenly his mouth is dry and scratchy. He's  _sweaty_ _sweatysosweatysogrossohmygoshthesweat_ , and his throat is closing up like he's just  _swallowed_ a whole bunch of kittens. He needs a liquid — a cold shower might be nice, but all he's got is that soda between him and Star. Without thinking, and without looking, Marcco dives face-first towards their drink.

At the exact same moment Star does. 

Their foreheads knock and their noses crash as they each reach their straw, and Marco is suddenly up  _very_ close and  _very_ personal with his best friend. Their eyes are wide, leveled at each other with a force that could level cities. Marco's upper lip brushes against Star's like a whisper, and it sends them both  _reeling_. 

"I'm sorry —"

" — Sorrysorrysorrysorry _ohmygosh_ Marco I'm  _sorry_  —"

" — If you want me to get your own cup —"

" — You just got a mouthful of  _Star spit_  —"

" — That's okay."

"... _Whatnow_?"

" _Sshh!_ " Tongue and Tonguier from two rows in front have completely pivoted in their seats; one of them is shining his phone at Star and Marco. "Will you  _shut up_ _?_ Some of us are trying to watch the movie!" 

" _Sorry_." They're both red-faced and apologetic, about ready to recede into their collars and never be seen again. Star's emblems are  _glowing_  — no, seriously, they're  _radiating_ light, and Marco thinks she might be able to project the rest of the reel herself. The two of them sink back into the shadows, and Star buries her face in her hair. It does little to hide anything. 

Marco can think of a million other ways he'd rather kiss Star Butterfly. All alone, maybe in the middle of a meteor shower, as space-dust falls in curtains and catches in her hair. He'd rather kiss her out in the open, where he's free to hold her; to pick her up in his arms, and listen for her heartbeat. He'd rather kiss her somewhere with lots of fresh air, for when he eventually surfaces in search of it. 

Not when he tastes like cherry cola and smells like a gym sock, probably. 

" _Hey_." He rouses from his mad panic by Star's feeble whisper, and the soft shake of ice in a cup by his cheek. " _Marco. Hey_."

He tries to make a sound, but it comes out sticky and strangled. 

"D'you, uh... want the rest of this?"

Marco nods, and Star places the cup back in the holder. She's still watching him as she emerges from her hair; her eyes are alive with the flicker and glow of her cheeks, which siphon color from the rest of her. Marco, upon finding his persistent inability to swallow, stoops again to take a sip.

Star follows him. 

Her lips stop mere millimeters from his, poised over her straw. Marco almost recedes, until he finds his hand under hers on the armrest. (  _How can she stand it? It feels like a swamp is growing in his palm._ ) Both of them hold their stalemate for the longest five seconds of their lives; almost imperceptibly, Star tips her head just a quarter inch to the right. It's all Marco needs.

He follows her lead to the left and into eyes-closed and blind-faith territory. Star's hand on his twitches just slightly, and settles when they find each other's lips. Marco is only barely aware of the movie's dramatic musical cue, the curly script that warns them that this is _'The End_ ', _'_ and the soft tweeting of bluebirds that fly loops above his head and dust him and Star with specks of popcorn. Wait — is he imagining that last part? (  _Nope. There really are birds in the theater_ _. This sure is a thing that's happening_. )

All that matters to him, really, is the warm glow of her face where it touches his, and the effortless push-and-pull of her lips against his. He'd tell her he loves her, if he wasn't so disgustingly dehydrated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WHOOPS. DID I DO THAT?!
> 
> So this is a little meta. Even more-so, for me. Those of you who joined me for my _taking notes and general shouting_  stream of _Star Vs_  the other day will recognize much of my own personal monologue and the prevailing need to have Marco nerd out. 
> 
> ( if you want to join us for the next stream, make sure you’re keeping [UTD](http://twitter.com/echocreeks) with [me](http://echocreeks.tumblr.com) and when i’m throwing those starco pity parties. )
> 
> More Marco! FINALLY. More sugar crystallizing my arteries! I’ve been in such a cuddly mood regarding these two that you can expect to see a few more cutesy chapters before I go Trina Riffin and get to _the good stuff_.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i’m _echocreeks_. you can req. me _[here](http://echocreeks.tumblr.com)_.


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